


Pick Your Face, If Your Prince Has Been Picked For You

by roamer_of_the_dusty_shelves



Category: Wolf Hall Series - Hilary Mantel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roamer_of_the_dusty_shelves/pseuds/roamer_of_the_dusty_shelves
Summary: When it is all over, when she has been swept up-river in a barge to Whitehall, swept into the king's closet and into marriage and into being Queen, all in one day, she finds herself staring out the glazed window at the gardens below in the first peaceful moment she has had for what feels like months.





	Pick Your Face, If Your Prince Has Been Picked For You

_"He is not the same man he was last year, and he doesn't acknowledge that man's feelings; he is starting afresh, always new thoughts, new feelings." Wolf Hall, Pgs. 29-30_

***

When it is all over, when she has been swept up-river in a barge to Whitehall, swept into the king's closet and into marriage and into being Queen, all in one day, she finds herself staring out the glazed window at the gardens below in the first peaceful moment she has had for what feels like months. She has been so tense, ever since Wolf Hall, ever since she had suddenly caught the eye of the king-ah, but she must say Henry now, she must say my dear husband. She shakes her head slightly-she is not used to it, her sister Bess says, but she has had little time, soon it will be natural. She knows it will never be natural. She walked with him in many gardens, in many cool and quiet places, heard many a line of poetry and verse, and she never felt it natural. One can never feel natural in the presence of a king. They are by their nature unnatural people. She wonders why no one understands this.  
A step behind her, like dust settling. She turns.  
Thomas Cromwell, caught in a passing sunbeam that doesn't dent an inch of his lawyer blacks, bowing low before her. He didn't use to bow, and it throws her. People hardly used to spare her a passing glance, and now she supposes everyone will be bowing like that.  
"Well, you are Queen of England now, my lady. It rather comes with the territory." Cromwell stands, placing his hat back on his head. Her hands fly up to her mouth as she feels her blush color her cheeks.  
"Did I say that out loud?" Cromwell laughs lightly, approaching her.  
"You've had quite a day-I suppose you can be forgiven." he teases, settling next to her in the window embrasure. She smiles delicately, tucking her hands up inside her sleeves. They both see the flash of blue at the same moment, and they catch each other's eyes and smile.  
"These are Thomas Cromwell's sleeves." she whispers, and giggles quietly. "I thought I'd wear them today. It seemed..." She shrugs, and looks out over the gardens, bathed in the setting sun. "Everything is so new and changed, and they are...a sign of times past. They helped." He stares at her, face grave and yet blank at the same time.  
"Those times are perhaps best left unremembered."  
"Unremembered?" she murmurs. "They were only days ago." Cromwell pulls back, face flickering with emotions she cannot name, and casts a look down the hall. Empty and sealed though it is, she feels a chill. "You are right, of course. I should not speak of such things."  
"They are done with now. New beginnings, new thoughts." He is looking at her with a curious look, one she has never seen him wear. It is alien to her-as his face always is. She is quietly relived by the fact that his face is alien to everyone, and she is not the only one who cannot read him. She is usually alone in the camp of being confused about what people really mean, but no one knows what Cromwell means, or means to do.  
"Can you teach me how to do that?" Cromwell raises his eyebrows, cocks his head.  
"Do what, my lady?"  
"That thing you do with your face. You close it off, like you shut a door, and no one has the key but you. I always wanted to do that, but I'm not sure how. That night-" she breaks off, thinking he will not remember, thinking she is foolish. But he nods, curious, and she hesitantly starts up again. "That night...the night before the King-I mean Henry...before you all left Wolf Hall-" Cromwell's face clears, and he nods, a faint smile etched onto his face.  
"Yes, I remember-you were up early, in the hall, looking out..." She nods, surprised and yet secretly glad he recalls it, that it was important to him too.  
"That was what I was trying to do, why I didn't turn to you. I was trying to do it, but I don't think I've gotten any better at it since then."  
Cromwell suddenly laughs, disturbing the sepulchral silence of the hallway. She jumps slightly, and suddenly feels like a silly girl, amusing an adult with prying questions. She clasps her hands and lowers her eyes, feeling another blush suffuse her pale face. The names Anne used to call her suddenly waft through her mind ( _milksop, pasty face)_ and she suffers their sting with no mouth to spit them.  
"My lady, I apologize most profusely. I meant no offense." She cannot bring herself to look at him, once again the cowering handmaid of Anne Boleyn. Cromwell hovers a gentle hand over her arm, barely grazing the silk. "I laughed only because...well, I suppose I should not cross a Queen, but you are incorrect." She peeps at him then, from underneath her eyelids, and sees him staring at her intently. "Your face is quite arranged. You are not an easy woman to read, my lady, and an even harder one to interpret. I must congratulate you-you are quite elusive, when you want to be."  
She feels a rush of gratitude, gratitude and affection and trust for this man who has taken her hand and led her though the mire, the maze, the trap that is the court, that is, in a way, Henry (but she mean no ill by these words-he's just a giant that you are always afraid will crush you) and she smiles at him and gently takes his hand in hers.  
"I think...I think we will do well together, you and I." she says gently, treading on new ground for the first time. Ground where she is Queen, ground where he is a king's right hand, ground where they are both small people suddenly made big. Well, not suddenly for him, he's been at it for a while, but everybody's got to start somewhere. Cromwell nods, and holds out his arm, a small and neat smile gracing his face.  
"Yes, my lady. I think we will." She takes it, and they begin their advance down the hall, towards the stout wooden door that will deliver her to Henry, deliver Cromwell to his master, and deliver England to its new queen. She takes a deep breath, and arranges her face.  
She is ready.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this series so much, and so I got inspired to write a little something! all credit of course goes to Hilary Mantel, the amazing author! I'm so grateful to her for writing this amazing trilogy (and I cannot wait for the third one!) Jane is such a fascinating character, and I love the relationship she has with Cromwell. btw I never meant for this to be romantic-they're just kindred spirits, I think, that respect the strategy the other uses. so I thought I'd write about them! they are both super difficult characters to write, so I hope they're OK and not too OOC! I tried to make them like their TV/book counterparts, and I hope it works!


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